It was just dark enough still to risk Apparating when Marcus took them directly to the bungalow. Hermione was shaking too much from the aftermath of shock to do more than mumble thanks before putting herself to bed in the spare room. He saw her huddled there, pale as milk with blue shadows under her eyes, and gave in.
Marcus kicked off his shoes to get under the covers too. The witch did not protest as he snuggled her against him. Her skin was clammy, heatless. He shifted, pulling his shirt off so she could steal his warmth. Hermione nestled against him like a mouse in her den, falling quickly into an exhausted sleep.
One of the lesser known talents of a touring athlete is the ability to nap anywhere. Marcus could doze off on a locker room bench if he had to. An orthopaedic mattress was no challenge. He planned to lie there until Granger settled then take himself off to a sofa. He reckoned she would not want him in her bed when she woke.
He roused much later when someone leant against him, hair tickling his chest. Granger was looking at him with red rimmed eyes but a calm face. Still half asleep, he smoothed a hand through her mussed curls. She rested her head on his shoulder and they just lay there for a while staring at the walls. Hermione broke the silence first.
"I don't know whether to sell this house or keep it to rent out." That was not an urgent decision. It was simply a decision she could make relatively emotionlessly. She would keep her parents' house in England though she was not sure if she would live there. It would be nice sometimes to escape the Burrow.
"Keep it." Marcus advised. Selling a house was something you did just before you ate your own boots. As a pure-blood, he had been raised to accrete property. And magical artefacts, grudges and in the case of his great-grandfather tapestries. The old geezer had been mad for them. "Keep it quiet. Nice little bolt-hole."
"There'll be blowback from that stupid law." Hermione mused. It had been years since she had marvelled at the need for a safe-house. More than five years, if she tallied it. What a miserable way to live.
"Yes." He did not want to be so grim so early in the morning but he had never learned the habit of optimism. "You will be a big target. Should have thought of that before I asked you to play along with it."
"Harry will be in the thick of it too. He doesn't need that extra stress on top of Auror training." She made a face, proud she did not resort to casual blasphemy.
"Golden Boy will manage." Marcus chuckled.
"Harry's a hero." Hermione was quick to defend her friend from mockery.
"So are you. So is Weasley, any of the horde. So are dozens of other people. Hell, Longbottom did more with less without Dumbledore bending over backwards for him." Stopping at that point, he cursed himself. This was why he did not talk to people. Running at the mouth had not been a survival strategy in his House. Strong and silent, that was him.
Granger did not say anything. Marcus was surprised. He turned his head to judge her expression. It was thoughtful not wrathful. Of course, she might be thinking about turning him into a newt.
"You have a point." Hermione had long been troubled by the Headmaster's machinations. Too many secrets. They would have done much better if he had been honest with them from the beginning. She could not shake the feeling of being a pawn. A pawn who after the game was done would be packed away quietly until she was needed next.
"You do not have to sweet talk me to get me into bed. Granger." It was a joke but there was a hard edge to his voice.
"I'm not patronising you, Flint." She sat up, self-consciously aware she had been cuddling him like a teddy bear. "I meant it." For no sensible reason, tears welled in her eyes. Hermione angrily scrubbed at her face. "Damn it."
"Hey, don't." Marcus felt like a right cad now. He pulled her back down, wrapping his arms around her. She was a petite morsel. That took him aback. All wound up and crusading, Granger stomped about like Boudicca. Weeping now, she was young and alone. "Fuck it. Cry all you want."
"I don't want to cry!" Hermione said angrily to his sternum, sniffing wretchedly. "I want to pull myself together. I need to..." She gasped at the pain in her chest, the physical ache of loss.
During the war, she had lost friends. She had fought and mourned and stood with her friends as they mourned. But there had always been a sense of something greater, something drawing them towards a conclusion. They were at war and wars ended and her war would end in victory.
Her parents were supposed to be safe in Australia. No one would be able to hurt them. She would be able to bring them home and normal would return. They could go to France again or take that skiing holiday she had missed. Ordinary, Muggle things that made her feel sane.
"Breathe." Marcus rubbed the flat of his hand in slow circles over her back. Yesterday he had planned to fly out to the Shetlands and coast on the winds. Just him and the North Sea squalls. He had needed some air. Now he was just adrift.
"I sent them away to be safe." Hermione spoke through gritted teeth, trying to stop her heaving sobs. She had worked so hard for years to make the world right for people like her parents, and one drunk idiot had ruined it all.
"My father sent me to Moldova, to a cold water hut in the middle of an old Soviet air base. There was ice on the inside of the windows." There he went again with the talking, Marcus berated himself. Having shared that, he had to make a point with it. "Safe is an illusion."
The statement stuck in her mind, giving her something to hold while she pushed away the frank panic rising inside. Thinking about other things would keep the pain at bay. Hermione realised also there was a lot more to Marcus Flint than she had thought.
"Why did you stay? At the hospital. You didn't have to." She did not lift her head, which was aching again. Dosing herself with Dreamless Sleep and just giving up for a while had a great allure at the moment.
"I know." Hesitating, he flipped a mental Knut. If he told her, he would be sharing something very private that he did not want bandied about. On the other side, she had just been through the same thing herself. She would not use it against him, probably. "I was with my mother when she died. It was just us. I was sixteen."
"I'm sorry." Hermione automatically hugged him. She barely knew him but there were certain things you just did. He had done the same for her. "Where was your dad?"
"At home, indisposed." Marcus enunciated carefully. That did make her look up at him. Ah, the keen Granger interest in bloody everything. He might as well tell her now. His chance with her was pretty much over. It was horrendously inappropriate for him to ask for her hand while she was in mourning. "He was in Azkaban for three years, after the first farce with the Dark Lord. It broke him."
"He was a Death Eater?"
"Sympathiser. But Crouch was aflame with righteous bloody zeal. Father was in Slytherin two years behind Riddle and he had been cronies with the worst of them. But he is not the sharpest spoon in the drawer, and they all knew it." His own bitterness surprised Marcus. He had thought he did not care. "So Father hosted them and let them pretend it was all so fucking civilised. I think he might even have believed it. He did not give much of a defence when he was hauled in, but he had heard what the Lestranges had done to Aunt Alice and her husband by then."
"Aunt Alice? As in Alice Longbottom?" It never ceased to surprise Hermione how interconnected wizarding families were. It was astounding they didn't all have two heads by now they were so inbred.
"Alice Gamp, as was." Marcus nodded, not happy to be talking about it but unable to stop his tongue. Seeing Granger's mother must have shaken him more than he thought. "My mother's younger sister. She took tea with us sometimes, very quietly. Nice lady. Used to sneak me sweets."
"Neville visits them often." Hermione meant it as a balm so he would know someone was still looking after Frank and Alice. She was not prepared for him to tense. She felt his muscles clench and let him go, sitting up to study him.
"Longbottom and I do not speak." It had been a mistake. In hindsight, he could admit that to himself. Discussing it now with her was not the problem. Taking it out on his ten year old cousin then was. "Last time I saw him at St Mungo's, I broke three of his ribs."
"What happened?" There was a lot of 'not speaking'. Being sent to Conventry was an old wizarding tradition, evidently. Hermione did not see much change in Marcus's careful impassivity. Slytherins cultivated that cold mask. He breathed in deeply, held it then breathed out slowly. Meditatively keeping his temper.
"It was that old bat Augusta who started it. Making fucking snippy remarks about sacrifice and justice. As though my mother had cheered when her sister was tortured. Mum did not even fucking know until it was in the papers." Marcus bit into the words. "Then Longbottom started asking questions and I could not stand it. My mother had just died. So I hit him and the bitch dragged him and herself off."
"Why Neville?"
"He was there. I couldn't bloody hit an old woman, could I?" Marcus grimaced. In the circumstances, one punch had been restrained. He had wanted to smash the harridan's face in.
"You might revise that prohibition if you ever met the Weasleys' Aunt Muriel. She makes Mrs Longbottom look mellow." Hermione admitted, which earned her a genuine laugh from the wizard. She felt a tiny smile curl her mouth. It was not much but it was there. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it." He kissed her on the forehead. "I will deny it if you do." Marcus smirked. "I am the Montrose Menace. I lead the League in penalties. I'd go for the full seven hundred if there was a way to smuggle a broadsword onto the pitch."
"Please don't. I was deaf in both ears for hours after the last game between the Magpies and the Cannons. Ron and Harry dragged me there, in the rain, to support Chudley." That had not been a pleasant afternoon. "When you fouled all three Chasers at once, Ron was ready to climb out of the box to hex you."
"When are you going to tell them? I will clear out before they arrive." Marcus did not dwell on why he would have preferred to stay. He would certainly not remain and cause a scene with Weasel and Lightning Boy.
"I'm not." Hermione spoke slowly, airing her own words to herself. She had not been conscious of the decision until that moment. But she was sure. "I'll let Harry know where I am though not why." She breathed in slowly, feeling disloyal. "I don't want this to be about them. The Weasleys are wonderful people. It's just they fill up all the space around them."
There were many things Marcus could say. Anything from snide remarks on fecundity to sympathetic drivel. He said none of it. He understood.
"My parents are Muggles. They were always there for me, supported me, loved me. When I say good-bye, I want it to be about them. I don't..." Hermione took a deep breath and blinked rapidly. "I don't want them to be marginalised at their own funeral."